by James Villas
“Ella!” was all Jonathan finally mustered as Jeremy nervously turned around and tucked his shirt back into his trousers.
For a moment, she simply stood and glared at Jonathan, so stunned in disbelief and embarrassment that she could hardly catch her breath, much less utter a word. Then, regaining what composure she could, she turned and walked rapidly back toward the house as her eyes began to tear uncontrollably. Inside, the gang around the piano was still singing upbeat tunes, and, after dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin, she spotted Earl, went up and took his arm, and discreetly coaxed him out into the hallway.
“Would you mind driving me home now?” she asked pointedly and undramatically.
“Why sure, honey,” he agreed, studying her face carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am,” she said softly. “I’m just hot and tired, and have had too much to drink, and I don’t feel like hanging around here any longer. Do you mind?”
Earl didn’t ask any more questions, but after they’d extended their thanks to Pinky Stoudemire and headed outside to Earl’s car on the tree-lined street buzzing with crickets, Ella, helpless to control her emotions any longer, suddenly threw her arms around Earl’s broad shoulders and sobbed like a distraught child, her whole body trembling.
“Hey, hey, sugar pie,” he tried to console, holding her tightly, “what brought all this on?”
“Oh, Earl,” was all she could mutter between gasps.
“What’s wrong, sweetie? Is it Jonathan? Has Jonathan done or said something to hurt you?” he asked in an angry tone.
For a long moment, she fought the urge to relate what she’d just witnessed in the garden. Then, taking the handkerchief Earl had given her, she backed away, wiped her nose and eyes, and repeated, “Honey, I’ve just had too much to drink and need to go home. Please take me home, Earl.”
Having learned long ago not to pry too deeply into the causes of Ella’s erratic moods, and that patience on many levels was the only way he might one day win her over, Earl simply put his arm around her shoulder, opened the car door, and said, “Hop in, sweetie.”
Chapter 11
IN THE GAZEBO
After the numbing incident in the garden, Ella hadn’t closed her eyes all night, and when her mother came into her room the next morning while she was dressing for early church and commented on how tired she looked, Ella simply passed it off as a consequence of too much late-night fun at the Stoudemires’ home. Foremost in her mind, of course, was if and when Jonathan might call to account for his shocking conduct, or at least to suggest that the two have a long talk so he might offer some rational explanation that Ella could understand. But deep down she knew, her instincts told her, that Jonathan would not call, or come by, or make any attempt to justify such repulsive behavior. At first, she had been simply stunned, angry, and full of a desire for revenge against this man who had taken full emotional and physical advantage of her, then committed such an indecent act. What she now sensed most, however, was intense hurt and a gnawing need to comprehend why Jonathan could have done something so abnormal and scandalous. Things like that just didn’t happen in Charleston, and if they did, she’d read somewhere how such people were locked away in jails or insane asylums. She desperately wanted to discuss it with her mother, or a close girlfriend, or even Earl, but just the humiliation and the prospect of appearing blind and foolish were enough to persuade her to keep the entire ugly story to herself. What did she expect, people would say, getting so tied up with a Jewish boy? Never did Ella feel so alone or cry so much in private, and perhaps the worst part, even worse than not grasping how such tragic realities can simply be part of life, was the frightening awareness that, despite all, she was still deeply in love with Jonathan.
Ella may have been youthfully naive in some respects, but she was not so vulnerable that she was unable to make strong, sensible decisions once determination had become a driving force. Which is why, not long after Jonathan’s deception, and given a little time to calmly, carefully analyze her predicament and her future, she left work at the museum one day, called Earl, and asked if they could have a quiet dinner together at Henry’s. By now, Earl had managed to buy a small but well-preserved Colonial house on Queen Street and was already making a moderate success of a small printing company called PrintCraft that he and a partner had begun in north Charleston in connection with his father’s pulpwood enterprise. Although he was working almost day and night to build up more business, he didn’t hesitate a second to agree to whatever Ella wanted to do, no matter how perplexing the request.
Charleston was still legally as dry as the rest of South Carolina when it came to serving alcohol in restaurants, but as with most other hedonistic locals, neither Earl nor Ella ever allowed the stupid law to stop them from carrying a flask or small bottle of bourbon to pour into glasses of ice water even under the indifferent eyes of waiters. And it was while Earl was doctoring her glass that Ella casually asked him a question that made him almost splash booze on the tablecloth.
“Earl, do you still want to marry me?”
He pushed his glasses back on his nose, then struggled to light her cigarette as he stared at her with a vivid expression on his face.
“Honey, are you serious?” he asked slowly in his deep, strong drawl, now nervously fingering the knot of his necktie.
Looking pretty as ever with her long blond hair tumbling radiantly over a pale yellow sweater worn around the shoulders, she fixed her soft eyes on him. “I wouldn’t bring it up if I weren’t serious.”
He looked almost frightened. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said more confidently, taking a long slug of his drink. “You know I do, Ella. You know I do. You must know I’ve wanted to marry you ever since we finished school, and I’ve never given up hope—not for one second.”
“Well, I’m finally ready to talk about it, so let’s talk about it.”
The old black waiter, wearing a tuxedo, served her bowl of she-crab soup, then placed Earl’s small raw oysters nestled on cracked ice in front of him.
He reached over and took her free hand. “Do you mind me asking what’s brought this on so suddenly?”
She lowered her head and pretended to be rearranging the white napkin over her simple pink and white dress. “It’s not so sudden, not really. I’ve thought about it lots of times. You’ve always been special to me, Earl—you should know that by now. Maybe I just had to grow up and get a few crazy things out of my system. Does that make any sense?”
He looked at her knowingly. “Are you talking about Jonathan?”
“That’s over,” she answered bluntly, stirring her soup gently with the spoon. “All over.”
“Because he’s Jewish?”
“Don’t be absurd. Of course not. But what I now realize is that Jonathan has been just a long infatuation—maybe like you and Mary Beth Williams when you were seeing so much of her. He’s different, you know—hard to understand. And, of course, the war changed Jonathan a lot—everybody’s aware of that. Lord knows what all happened over there, but he’s never been the same person, and maybe I’ve just been feeling sorry for him. He could be fun, but, whatever, it was just an infatuation, and now it’s over. We all have to grow up and start thinking like adults, don’t we?”
She began looking anxiously about the room. “Honey, do you think we could get some more water?”
Earl signaled the waiter, and when their glasses were refilled, he reached inside his plaid jacket for the flask and again spiked both drinks.
“I do want to thank you, honey, thank you with all my heart for being so patient with me all this time,” she continued. “I mean, we’ve been through right much together, and had some great times, and you’re the one person, the one living soul, I’ve always known I could count on and trust, and, well…What I guess I now realize most, Earl, is that I’m always happy and relaxed and not at all upset when I’m with you. And I’m ready to settle down—it’s time we both started to settle down a little. I think I’m r
eally ready to settle down and start leading a more mature life. Am I making any sense?”
He reached over and took both of her hands, and she could feel that he was trembling slightly. “Are you trying to say what I think you’re saying? Are you saying, sweetheart, that you’ll actually marry me?”
Ella smiled, then kissed one of his hands. “Do you think we could make a go of it, Earl? Do you think we could really make it work the way I’ve always dreamed marriage should work?”
He squeezed her hands tightly. “I know we can make it work, sweetheart. Why in blazes wouldn’t it work? As far as I’m concerned, we were made for each other. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on you, and my feelings have never changed—not one iota. I love you, Ella, and I want to share everything with you, and raise a good family we can be proud of, and grow old as the hills with you.”
Ella sat still for a long moment, relishing his comforting words, and praying he wasn’t going to ask if she was deeply in love with him, and trying to forget all about her secret sadness. She then again looked him straight in the eyes and gave him a mischievous smile.
“Then I’d say we’ve just made a very important deal.”
Earl’s face was now as flushed as a child’s with excitement. “Do you really mean it, Ella? You’re not putting me on, are you?”
“Stop asking me so many crazy questions,” she said, laughing. “How could I have any doubts about the best dancer in the entire South?” Then she looked at him tenderly, and, for an instant, the idea of being truly intimate with Earl made her tingle inside as she watched him rake his fingers through his straight, brown hair and beheld him in a strange new light.
“Hot damn!” he blurted out uncontrollably, jumping up from his chair to hug her tightly while a much older couple at the next table watched with surprise and the waiter rushed over anxiously to remove what was left of the soup. “We’re gonna get married! This sweet little lady here has just agreed to marry me!” he gushed openly to the other couple, who broke into big smiles and discreetly extended their congratulations.
Ella began to blush from embarrassment and coaxed Earl back into his chair.
“Wait, just wait till I tell Mama and Daddy,” he exclaimed next, reaching for his drink as the waiter asked if they were ready for the shrimp Newburg they’d both ordered. “You’ve always been their favorite, you know, and they’re gonna be so thrilled—tickled pink.”
“Same with mine,” she added joyfully. “Especially Mama. She never stops talking about what a handsome gentleman you are and what good manners you have.”
The waiter returned with plates of steaming white rice, then very ceremoniously spooned richly sauced shrimp from a chafing dish over the mounds and sprinkled a little paprika over each serving. Impressed, they each tasted the dish and proclaimed it excellent, but tonight their concentration was hardly on the food, delicious as it was. Earl was simply ecstatic and eager to discuss their future together. No matter that she still hadn’t uttered the four-letter word he was yearning to hear. Such, he reasoned, was just not in Ella’s nature. Her emotions were more complex, though she now experienced a wonderful sense of relief that almost managed to erase much of the anxiety that had been threatening to devour her. Then Earl became very serious, almost solemn.
“I want you to know, Ella, that you’ve just made me the happiest man in the world—my biggest dream come true. And I’ll make you a good husband, sweetheart—that you can bet your life on. I have some big ideas and career plans, you know, and now you’ll be part of everything. One day, you’ll be really proud of me. I’ll show you. I’ll make you the proudest gal in South Carolina—in the whole South.” He then hesitated and frowned. “But you know something? This is an occasion for champagne. We ought to have champagne right now to celebrate something this important. It’s ridiculous, plain down ridiculous we can’t order a damn bottle of champagne in this backward state.” He stopped again, taking another big sip of his drink and buttering a lukewarm biscuit. “Okay, sweetheart, so when do we tie the knot—before you change your mind?”
“What about tomorrow?” she teased, her small mouth stretching to a wide grin. “In the Gazebo. Not too many people.”
She was referring to the most romantic spot and number one marriage site in the city, a gazebo in White Point Gardens, overlooking the harbor, where nuptials were an old Charleston tradition.
“Wouldn’t that be rushing it a little?” he joked. “I hear you’ve got to reserve that place ages in advance.”
“Not if you know the right people,” she whispered. “And my sweet daddy, he knows the right people.”
“You’re serious about this, sugar, aren’t you?” he said excitedly, grabbing her hand again.
“Well, as you know, I’ve never been one to beat around the bush.”
After their plates had been cleared from the table, the waiter appeared with a small pecan pie with a single lighted candle stuck in the middle. Everyone around them began to clap cheerfully, and, utterly surprised, Ella and Earl both beamed.
And, as luck would have it, Archie Hodges did indeed learn that, due to an unexpected cancellation, the Gazebo would be available on a Saturday just two weeks away, and that the assistant priest at St. Philip’s was free to perform the ceremony. Since Ella had made it perfectly clear that she wanted a simple wedding that would not cost her parents an arm and a leg, it was decided that no more than about forty family members and old friends would be invited and that she would wear a modest off white linen dress with matching veiled hat, elbow-length gloves, and low-heeled pumps. At first, she had no intention of including Jonathan’s name on the guest list. When, however, she realized the gossip this could cause given her close friendship with him, she sent him an invitation, almost certain that he’d find a legitimate excuse not to show up. Not that anybody had ever believed for a moment that Ella might actually one day marry a Jew, but for her to ignore a man she’d been dating on and off for a long time would not only have been abnormal but possibly solicited more questions than she cared to answer.
After a frantic two weeks for all concerned, Ella and Earl were married on a bright, warm day amidst a rainbow of fresh flowers that filled the Gazebo and to the music of a small string orchestra that Archie Hodges had engaged. She was given away by her proud father, while Earl’s served as his best man, and both mothers cried profusely. When the ceremony was over and Jonathan surprisingly appeared with a few friends to congratulate the couple and wish them luck, a terrible anxiety seized Ella that she had a hard time camouflaging. She wondered if he’d also attend the punch-and-buffet reception sponsored by her parents at St. Cecilia’s, but he never came. For the honeymoon, Earl had wanted to book a wildly expensive suite at the Ocean Forest Hotel up in Myrtle Beach, but Ella found that extravagant, so he settled for a beautiful oceanfront room at the equally exclusive but more reasonably priced Priscilla Inn not far away.
Like most normal young men of his chaste generation who were expected to conform to rigid principles of morality—especially in a town like Charleston—Earl Dubose had never once crossed the limits of sexual boldness with a woman till the night he made love to Ella on their honeymoon. Not, by any means, that he’d been idle while forever hoping that Ella would eventually tire of infatuations with other men like Jonathan Green and finally focus more serious attention on him. Rarely was Earl without a date at all the social functions and athletic events he attended with those he’d known in high school and an ever-growing contingent of new friends, and because he was an ardent football fan, a great dancer, and obviously setting out to make something worthwhile of his life, he was both liked and respected by virtually everyone in the smug community—and, of course, Ella championed him as much as anybody else did. If, during the past weeks, he’d had reason to ask himself over and over if this wonderful girl, this apple of his eye, had truly fallen in love with him, any worries were usually dispelled by the certainty that marriage itself would magically bring happiness to them both.
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After the reception, the two had changed into more casual clothes at Earl’s new house and driven directly up to the Priscilla, and, no surprise to Ella, he had not only reserved one of the inn’s best-appointed front rooms but arranged for an elaborate seafood dinner and a bottle of illicit French champagne and a vase of two dozen red roses to be wheeled in on a candlelit table covered with starched white linen. And except for his switching on the console radio to hear the outcome of a baseball game played earlier over in Columbia, the evening couldn’t have started out on a more romantic note as the two discussed the quaint wedding ceremony, and beautiful music, and how nicely all the guests were dressed.
“I hope you realize what a happy man you’ve made me,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, holding up his champagne glass to ting hers before diving into the fresh stuffed flounder they both loved to eat.
“You’re so sweet, honey,” she said, taking a large gulp of wine, then reaching over to take his hand. “I thought the reception was particularly gracious, and I think everybody we know was there.”
“Well, almost everybody,” Earl said flippantly, pouring more champagne from the ice bucket into her glass.